Loyalty and Deceit
by N'kala
Summary: Nick sees something he's not supposed to, and ends up regretting it.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Loyalty and Deceit

Author: N'kala

Summary: Nick sees something he's not supposed to, and ends up regretting it.  
Disclaimer: They ain't mine.  
Author's Notes: If you've never read my work before, then be warned. I take some liberties with my stories. Consider yourself warned.

PROLOGUE

It was unusually cold, the sun having set hours before. Despite the high temperature during the course of the day, the approaching storms had swept the heat away from the city, leaving the people of Las Vegas, Nevada scrambling for heavier clothes.

"'Let's go to Las Vegas during winter'," a mocking voice called out. "'It's in the desert. It'll be nice and warm'. Yeah, good call, 'Lissa."

Green eyes looked daggers at the woman behind her. "How was I supposed to know about the damned weather change? I'm not a freaking meteorologist!"

Lisa Greene rolled her brown eyes to the twinkling stars above. "It's called the Weather Channel, 'Lissa. Heard of it?"

Melissa Howard stopped dead in her tracks, looking down at the ground before her. The shadows from the alley on her left stretched out to the street, but didn't obscure the hand lying limp beneath a pile of trash.

"'Lissa?" Lisa came to a stop beside her. "What . . . oh my God."

The neon lights of the casinos lit the sky so brightly that the flashing blue and red lights from the surrounding squad cars faded into the background. Officers prowled the edges of the scene, awaiting clearance from the CSIs to proceed.

Jim Brass lifted the yellow caution tape roping off the scene and nodded a greeting to Gil Grissom.

"What've we got?" Grissom asked, striding up to the body.

"John Doe, late thirties, took a bullet to the head," Brass replied. "Pair of tourists called it in." He nodded to the two young women talking with an officer.

"Anyone touch anything?" Grissom asked, his gaze focused wholly on the body before him.

"Actually, I think one officer didn't get the chance to yet," Brass shot back. "Shall I call him over?"

The tape lifted again, and two more CSIs appeared, each lugging a silver case.

"Hey, Boss, got your message," Nick Stokes greeted. His brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as they swept over the scene.

"Yeah, got held up on the way," Warrick Brown added. "Traffic was murder."

"Yeah?" Grissom replied. "Tell it to this guy."


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Something was out of place.

Crouched on the ground a few feet away from the body, Nick Stokes' sharp eyes scanned the concrete. Warrick was examining the area where the body had been found, Grissom having gone to the morgue with the victim. Warrick wasn't having too much luck; the perp had been very careful.

But something was just not right.

Nick wasn't entirely sure what had drawn him over here. There wasn't anything obviously wrong, but still . . .

"I can't find squat," Warrick spoke up. "No hair, no fiber, no prints, finger or otherwise . . . I can only tell one thing; our vic didn't die here. Whoever dropped him off didn't leave anything behind."

"I wouldn't say that." Nick edged forward to the dumpster and took out his tweezers and an evidence bag. Carefully, he plucked a thin black strand from where it had become stuck on the edge. "Looks like denim. Our murdered must've gotten startled by a noise, jumped back, and voila. Evidence."

Warrick leaned over Nick's shoulder and squinted at the fiber. "Good catch."

"How much you wanna bet it breaks this case?" Nick asked, dropping the fiber into the bag.

"What, that?" Warrick asked. "Come on."

"What's the matter?" Nick shot back, turning to look up at his friend. "Afraid you can't break this one?"

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Warrick said.

"It's like that," Nick grinned.

"It's on, now," Warrick replied. "A hundred to the one who breaks this case."

"Hope you've got that C-note ready," Nick told him.

"We'll see," Warrick replied, returning to his area.

Another two hours passed before the two CSIs finally packed up their equipment. No fingerprints, no footprints, no other evidence to show for their work except for the fiber Nick had found.

"I'll run this on down to Trace and see what they can pick up on my fiber," Nick said as he and Warrick climbed into their Tahoe.

"I'm going to find Gris and see if he's gotten anything off of the body," Warrick decided. "I've got a feeling that this case is going to be a little harder than we think."

"You're just trying to make me nervous about my evidence," Nick pointed out. "I'm tellin' ya, it's gonna help break this case wide open."

Warrick rolled his eyes.

Catherine Willows strode down the hall towards the break room, looking for her colleague, Sara Sidle. She spotted Nick and Warrick heading her way and paused, returning the brilliant grin the younger man flashed her.

"Either of you guys seen Sara?" she asked.

"Nope," Nick replied. "'Scuse me, Catherine, I've got a case to solve."

Catherine watched him go, then raised an eyebrow at Warrick. "Kinda risky, betting on a case while working with the boss."

Warrick shrugged. "Sucker bet; Nicky never learns. What's Gris got you on tonight?"

Catherine sighed. "Sara and I have to go back over the evidence from that rape case we did a few month's back. Defendant's contesting that it's been tampered with."

Warrick winced. "Ouch. Glad it's not me."

Catherine shot him a wry smile. "Thanks for the sentiment. If you see Sara, tell her to meet me in the evidence locker."

"Will do." Warrick continued on down the hall towards the morgue. Snagging himself a pair of scrubs from a drawer just outside, he tugged them on and went inside.

Grissom and Al Robbins were bent over their John Doe, eyes focused on the corpse. Warrick found a spot beside Grissom and, glancing at the two older men, followed their eyes to their corpse's left hand, currently held in Robbins' hands. After a minute, he spoke.

"What are we looking at?" he asked.

"Our victim grabbed something; a note, a receipt, while the ink was still wet," Robbins told him. "It's not much, but it might help."

Grissom took a camera and snapped off several shots while Robbins held the thumb up.

"ID our vic yet?" Warrick asked.

"Left thumb is evidence," Grissom finally spoke. "The rest can be printed and run through AFIS. Might have to check dental records, though. Find anything at the scene?"

"Nick did," Warrick replied. "Black fiber, possibly denim. Nick's up in Trace now."

"Good," Grissom said. "I'll send the prints your way. See what you can make of this."

Warrick took the camera Grissom handed him. "You know where to find me."

It was almost six in the morning when the victim's ID came through. Nothing had turned up on AFIS; Warrick had had to go back to dental records to find him.

Brian Jackson, age 34. Employed as a bartender at the Excalibur. Next of kin was a sister, Abby.

Grissom had called Brass, collected his CSIs, and within half an hour they were all standing outside of Abby Jackson's home.

The door opened at Brass' knock to reveal a tall man, at least six and a half feet, built like a football player. Self-conscious at discovering four strangers on his front step, he ran a hand through his short, sandy-colored hair.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Brass held up his badge. "I'm Captain Brass with the LVPD. This is Gil Grissom, Warrick Brown, and Nick Stokes with the crime lab. Does an Abby Jackson live here?"

Pale blue eyes squinted at Brass' badge. "Uh . . . yeah. Is something wrong?"

"We really need to speak with Ms. Jackson about that," Brass told him.

"Oh . . . okay." The man stepped aside and gestured for the others to enter. "I'm Tyler Brandt. Abby's my fiancée. She's in the shower. Let me get her. You folks make yourselves at home."

Nick and Warrick exchanged amused glances as the group shuffled into the living room. Despite Brandt's size, he didn't appear very threatening.

Grissom, Brass, and Warrick all claimed seats, but Nick remained on his feet. Before anyone could speak, Brandt returned with a slender woman in her early thirties, clad in a thick blue terry-cloth bathrobe. Her brown hair was combed back out of her face, still dripping water from her shower. Sharp brown eyes glanced from face to face.

"I'm Abby Jackson," she introduced herself. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Brass made the introductions once more, then cleared his throat. "Miss Jackson, you might want to sit down."

Abby sank into an easy chair, clutching at her robe. Brandt sat on the arm, holding his fiancée.

"I'm afraid it's about your brother, Brian," Brass said. "His body was found in an alley on the Strip last night."

Abby's face went very white. "His . . . his body?"

Brass nodded. "I'm very sorry, ma'am."

Abby turned to Brandt, allowing him to draw her close. Brandt turned pained eyes to Brass. "How?"

Grissom answered him. "He was shot."

As the conversation continued, Nick let the words wash over him. His attention became focused on his surroundings, soaking it all in.

Elegant furniture with hand-carved oak tables. Definitely not a place for everyday use. Did they entertain guests, then?

The walls were adorned with tasteful paintings from noted artists throughout history. No framed photographs were in sight. Interesting.

A large roll-top desk stood against the far wall, a porcelain vase and an ancient clock seated on top of it. The roll-top was open, revealing a mess of papers. Nick supposed that they had interrupted Brandt at work. Curious, Nick drew closer.

There was nothing really out of the ordinary. Mail, bills, financial documents . . .some slips of paper. Betting slips, maybe? Nick leaned in for a closer look.

"Nicky."

Nick turned to find all eyes on him. Coloring slightly, he offered everyone a rueful grin. "Yeah, Boss?"

Grissom jerked his head toward the door. "Let's go."

Nick nodded and gave an apologetic glance to Abby and her fiancée before following Warrick out the door.

"Well, pending a check on alibis, I think these folks are in the clear," Brass commented as they moved to their vehicles.

As Grissom and Brass began their discussion on evidence versus statements, Warrick leaned close to Nick. "You find anything while you were snooping?"

Nick shrugged. "No pictures of family; that whole room kinda put me on edge. Like if I moved so much as an inch, I might break something."

"And the desk?" Warrick pressed.

"We interrupted Mr. Brandt at something," Nick stated. "Paying bills, maybe. Those were on top. I also saw some financial documents, envelopes filled with something but not stamped or addressed, and betting slips."

"Doesn't sound like anything out of the ordinary," Warrick observed.

"No, it doesn't," Nick agreed as they climbed into the Tahoe. "Jim's probably right; they're probably innocent."

The Tahoe pulled away from the house and headed down the street, unaware of the pair of eyes following its movements. 


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Hoping to find more to work with, Grissom sent Nick and Warrick to search Jackson's apartment for clues. The two friends stood just inside the apartment, surveying the scene.

Nick whistled. "Our man Mr. Jackson sure was a neat-freak."

It was an accurate observation. From what the two men could see, the apartment was spotless. Not one object was out of place. No frames tilted, no dust present, not even a wayward shoe in the entranceway.

"I guess we all have our quirks," Warrick commented.

Nick and Warrick prowled the living room, starting on opposite sides. It took Nick a full minute before realizing what was missing.

"No pictures," he muttered.

"What's that?" Warrick asked, not taking his eyes off of the statue next to the phone.

Nick turned to Warrick. "You got pictures at your place? Friends, family, right?"

"Yeah, so?" Warrick asked, finally turning to face Nick.

"Well, if these two were so close, why don't they have pictures of each other somewhere?" Nick pointed out.

Warrick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe these people don't like to put pictures of each other on display. Doesn't make them criminals."

Nick shook his head. "Something's not right, man."

"Well, I'm sure we'll find it out," Warrick replied. "I'll take the bedroom if you do the bathroom."

Nick shot Warrick a wry look. "Gee, thanks so much."

Warrick only grinned and moved into the bedroom. Nick carried his case into the bathroom and set it on the floor next to the sink. Looking in the mirror at his reflection, he mentally outlined what he would process first. Deciding that the sink would be a good place to start, he bent down to open his case.

It happened too fast for him to react. A large sheet of plastic- the shower curtain- wrapped around his head and tightened around his throat, cutting off his air. Nick surged up, fingers clawing at the plastic.

His assailant jerked the curtain tighter around Nick's throat, using it to smash Nick's head into the mirror over the sink. Stars exploded before his eyes, giving way to spots. If he didn't get air soon, he was going to die.

Nick forced his assailant backwards into the wall, hoping to at least draw Warrick's attention, if not loosen the stranglehold of plastic. The assailant jerked the curtain even tighter, sending Nick to his knees. Darkness clouded his vision. A pounding reached his ears as if from a distance, but Nick barely took notice. With a last burst of energy, he reached up behind him to tug on his assailant's sleeve. All he managed to do was grasp a handful of cotton before succumbing to the encroaching blackness.

Warrick threw his body against the bathroom door again, trying desperately to get to Nick. He didn't know what was wrong, but the thuds and grunts he'd heard through the wall told him that his friend was in trouble.

Big trouble.

"Nick!" he shouted. "Hang on, Nick!"

A loud crash responded; it sounded like a window breaking. Warrick kicked the door, then threw himself at it. Finally, the door gave way, admitting the worried CSI.

The window in the bathroom was a shambles, glass littering the floor. Warrick swept his gun around the room, searching for a threat. His eyes fell to an unmoving figure lying at his feet.

"Nick!" Kneeling down and holstering his gun, Warrick unwrapped the shower curtain from Nick's head and felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

"Christ . . . Come on, Nick," Warrick muttered. He began chest compressions on his friend, then bent low to breathe air into Nick's lungs.

No response.

"Don't give up on me, man," Warrick said. "Come on, Nick!"

Nick suddenly gasped for air, his back arched with the effort. His eyes flew open, his hands coming up to grip the front of Warrick's shirt.

"Easy, man, easy," Warrick soothed. He pulled out his radio. "This is CSI Brown requesting an ambulance to 4235 Brighton Park. Officer down." He put his radio away and eased Nick back to the floor. "Take it easy, man. Help will be here soon."

"I'm telling you, Warrick, I'm fine. You don't need to call and tell anyone."

"Yeah, you sound fine," Warrick replied.

Nick glared at him from his hospital bed. Other than a raspy voice and a large bruise around his throat, he was fine. That didn't stop Warrick from worrying, however.

"What happened?" he asked. 

Nick sighed. "It all happened too fast. I was opening my case when, next I knew . . ."

Warrick sat on the bed beside him. "Well, maybe something'll turn up on the fibers I got from under your fingernails. After I rule out my own shirt, of course. In the meantime, you oughta go home and relax. Take the rest of the night off."

Nick scowled. "I'm telling you, I'm fine! If I go home, everyone'll know something happened, and that's the situation I want to avoid."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "If you go in, they'll know something happened. Have you seen the bruise around your neck?"

The doctor came in, ending the conversation. The man- earlier introduced as Robert Sullivan- was flipping through the chart in his hands, gray head bent low.

"Well, I see no reason to keep you here, young man," he stated. "I do suggest you rest for twenty-four hours. Since CPR was performed, I'll need to contact your supervisor and apprise him of the situation."

At a meaningful look and nudge from Nick, Warrick said, "That won't be necessary."

Sullivan looked up at him. "Oh?"

"No, I mean . . . I'm his supervisor," Warrick lied, thinking quickly.

"You're . . ." Sullivan flipped back through the chart. " . . . Gil Grissom?"

"That's me," Warrick confirmed.

Sullivan stared at Warrick for a long moment before nodding. "Okay, Mr. Grissom. Although Mr. Stokes may insist otherwise, he did suffer serious trauma to his esophagus. That he had to be revived is not a situation where I would send a patient home so quickly, but as he's insisting, and I have no medical reason to keep him, he's free to go. I'll have a nurse bring in the discharge papers." His light blue eyes flickered to Nick. "You will rest, young man."

Nick nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you," Warrick added.

Sullivan turned and headed out of the room, but paused briefly at the door. "Oh, and if I might add one more thing?"

Both CSIs turned to face him.

"Please give Gil my regards," Sullivan said. "If he's interested in scheduling another lunch, have him call me."

Nick flushed as Warrick tried to work his mouth to form words.

Sullivan chuckled. "Don't worry, boys, your secret's safe with me. A word of advice? Tell him soon. He's going to find out somehow, and if it isn't from you, he's going to get angry."

With that, he left. Warrick turned to Nick.

"Why do I listen to you?" he asked.

Nick flashed him a brilliant smile and swept the blanket aside, anxious to get dressed. "Because you, like so many others, find my charm irresistible."

Warrick snorted. "Whatever. I'm taking you home to rest; it's close to the end of shift, anyway. Then, tonight, you are going to explain to Gris all this and why you didn't call him as soon as it happened."

"I don't suppose there's a Plan B or something," Nick replied, tugging his shirt on.

Warrick shrugged. "I guess we could forget the whole thing; pretend it never happened."

"Sounds good to me," Nick said.

"Then promise me front row seats when Gris finds out," Warrick shot back. "The doc was right; he's going to find out. It's just a matter of time."

Nick rolled his eyes and sat back on the bed to wait for the discharge papers. "Fine. I'll tell him tonight." His mood grew serious. "Do you have any theories about what that guy was doing at Jackson's place?"

Warrick let out a long breath. "Could've been something as simple as a robbery interrupted, but I don't think so. I think it was Jackson's murderer looking for something."

"Do you think he found it?" Nick asked.

Warrick frowned. "I don't know. I'm going to go back and finish processing the apartment, see what I can come up with."

"I'll give you a hand," Nick offered eagerly.

Warrick fixed him with a look. "Absolutely not, man. Doctor's orders; you're grounded 'til tonight."

Nick folded his arms and pouted. "What're you, my mother?"

Warrick grinned. "No, but I am the guy who can call downtown and 'accidentally' spill the news about tonight."

"You know, you're enjoying this a little too much," Nick stated.

"Gotta enjoy it while it lasts," Warrick returned. He patted Nick's leg. "C'mon. Let's go track down that nurse ad get the hell outta here."

"Amen!" 


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Despite his assurances to his best friend, Nick was exhausted. As soon as he got home, he fell asleep for the entire day, waking a few hours before his shift.

As he dressed for work, Nick caught a glimpse of himself in his mirror. He winced at what he saw; a band one-inch thick around his throat that was a deep blackish-purple. Putting back the jersey he'd intended to wear, Nick instead selected a black turtleneck to wear with his jeans. At least when he was explaining the incident to Grissom, there wouldn't be a blatant visual aid hindering his attempt.

The ride into work was spent in silent preoccupation as Nick worked out how he'd tell Grissom. He didn't want anyone to make a big deal over the situation; ever since the incident with Nigel Crane, the rest of the team seemed to get more protective at any hint of danger.

Nick knew better than to complain; he was grateful his friends cared so much. But Nick wanted- needed to move on with his life, and to do that, he needed for the rest of the team to do the same.

Nick pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. Heaving a deep breath, he hopped out of his truck and headed for the building.

He had taken all of two steps when suddenly a thick arm seized him around this chest, pining his arms to his sides. Nick drew a deep breath to yell when at that exact moment, a damp cloth was pressed over his nose and mouth. A dim part of Nick's mind identified the sickly odor as chloroform even as his vision swam.

Nick grunted and thrashed against his captor, but the chloroform made his movements weak, sluggish. Keys slipped from nerveless fingers as Nick finally tumbled into darkness.

The figure quickly hefted Nick's body into a fireman's carry and slipped into the shadows before he could be seen.

Barely a minute later, Greg Sanders pulled up beside Nick's truck and stepped out. As he headed for the lab, his foot connected with something on the ground.

"What the . . ." Greg bent down and scooped up Nick's discarded keys. Sharp brown eyes darted from the Texas A&M key chain to the blue truck.

"Nicky, my friend, you owe me one," he muttered, pocketing the keys. A mischievous smirk crept onto his face as he continued on. "I'll make him sweat for a bit."

Grissom poked his head into the Trace lab where Warrick was going over the results from the scrapings he'd taken from Nick earlier that day.

"Warrick, did you and Nick find anything at Jackson's apartment?" he asked.

Warrick looked up. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Grissom nodded. "Have you seen Nick? Shift started an hour ago, and I haven't seen him."

Warrick shrugged. "His truck's here; he can't have gone far."

His face was as expressionless as ever, but Warrick could see the frustration behind Grissom's eyes. "All right. I need to see if I can track down that ink print from Mr. Jackson's thumb. If you see Nick, tell him to call me."

"Will do."

Grissom started to walk away, but popped back into the lab. "I thought you couldn't find anything at the dump site."

"Nick found a fiber," Warrick replied. "I'm comparing it with some fibers from last night."

"Anything probative?" Grissom asked.

"I'll let you know," Warrick promised.

As Grissom moved away, Warrick shook his head.

"Nicky, my man, putting it off is just going to make it worse," he muttered to himself.

Nick moaned and moved his head, wondering where he was. The last thing he could remember was pulling into the parking lot at the lab.

He tried to lift his hand to rub bleary eyes, but discovered that his hands were bound tightly behind his back. His legs, too, were wrapped in duct tape.

Memories burst forth; Nick suddenly thrashed from side to side, trying desperately to free himself. He didn't know where he was or who had kidnapped him, but his instincts told him that he needed to get away.

A door opened somewhere above him. Footsteps creaked over him, raining sawdust on him. A square section of the ceiling was lifted, illuminating Nick's cell.

He was lying in a very small, cramped dirt room not much larger than himself. It was apparently a hidden niche below some floorboards.

A beefy hand reached down and, gripping Nick by the front of his shirt, lifted him effortlessly out of the niche. The face Nick saw filled him with shock and confusion.

"H-Hey, man," Nick stuttered. "What's going on?"

Tyler Brandt swung Nick around and dropped him on the ground. Lifting a bat from the wall- Nick vaguely recognized that he was in some sort of storage shed- Brandt towered over Nick.

"What did you tell them?" he asked.

Nick tried to look at Brandt, but his eyes kept falling back onto the bat. "T-Tell who what?"

Brandt gripped the bat. "I need to know. What did you see?"

"I-I didn't s-see anything," Nick replied. "I d-don't know what you're t-talking about."

Brandt listed the bat and brought it down hard on Nick's chest. Nick yelled and curled up on his side, his eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaked through, streaming down his cheeks.

"What did you tell them?" Brandt asked again.

"Nothing!" Nick wheezed.

Brandt swung the bat again. Pain exploded against Nick's hip.

"What did you tell them?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Nick howled.

The bat swung again. And again. Brandt didn't even ask his question anymore. He just swung the bat.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and tried to last through the pain. Every swing brought another burst of pain; how much longer could he last?

Oblivion finally took pity on Nick and welcomed him with open arms.

"Where the hell is Nick?"

Heads poked into the hall as Grissom raged down the corridor, his cell in one hand and papers in the other. He came to a halt outside the DNA lab in front of Warrick.

"It's two hours till the end of shift, no one's heard from him, and he's not answering his cell," Grissom stated. "Does anyone know where he is?"

"Wherever he is, he didn't drive there," Greg spoke up.

Grissom focused his intense gaze on the lab tech. "What do you mean?"

Greg held up Nick's keys. "I found these on the ground by his car when I pulled up at the start of shift. I've been looking for him to give them back, but . . ."

Grissom gripped Greg by the arm. "Show me."

Greg stumbled a little, but kept his footing. He led Grissom from the lab to the parking lot, Warrick, Catherine, and Sara following.

"I found them right here," Greg said, stopping near his car.

Grissom frowned. "This doesn't make sense. Where could he be?"

"Do you think someone took him?" Catherine asked.

"But who?" Grissom asked. "And why?"

Warrick shifted uncomfortably. Grissom caught the movement and narrowed his eyes. "Warrick? Do you know something?"

Warrick sighed. "Look, Nick was going to tell you himself tonight."

"Well, Nick isn't here," Grissom stated.

"Last night, at the vic's apartment, we weren't alone," Warrick revealed. "Nick was attacked while processing the bathroom. By the time I got there, the perp was gone."

"Well, it couldn't've been serious, or the hospital would have called me," Grissom said.

Warrick's eyes skittered away. "Uh . . . yeah. We convinced the doctor not to. Nick insisted he was fine."

Grissom turned his back to his team, eyes staring blankly at the street.

"How serious was it?" Sara asked.

In for a penny . . . "He wasn't breathing. I had to perform CPR." Warrick looked at his supervisor. "Gris . . ."

Grissom whirled around, his normally calm eyes flashing with unbridled rage. The CSIs involuntarily took a step back in shock.

"Let me get this straight," he thundered. "You mean to tell me that Nick was seriously injured enough to warrant medical attention, but you chose not to inform me? And now he's missing?"

No one could reply; all were speechless.

"I cannot believe that one of my CSIs was abducted in plain view of a police station, and only now I'm hearing of a threat to his life!" Grissom continued.

People were starting to gather around, curious as to the commotion. None of the CSIs or Greg paid them any attention, however.

"From this moment on, we treat this like a missing person's!" Grissom commanded. "This is top priority. I want everyone working on this. Forget the other cases; there are no other cases. No one eats, sleeps, or goes home until Nick is found! Sara, get your camera, get some photos. Catherine, scout the perimeter. Look for anything that might help us. Greg, go alert Brass."

Sara, Catherine, and Greg jumped into action, racing back to the lab.

Grissom turned to Warrick. Before he could speak, Warrick interrupted.

"I shouldn't have kept this from you," he admitted.

"You're damn right you shouldn't have!" Grissom yelled. "There is a reason we follow protocol! We could have done something to prevent this!"

"I know!" Warrick yelled back. "Don't you think I know that? I'm sorry!"

"Tell that to Nick, wherever he is," Grissom replied. "Now you're going to tell me every last detail of what happened last night, and then you're going to cover every inch of this parking lot. Let's go." 


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Pain.

Nick didn't want to move even an inch. His entire body throbbed with pain. Brandt had made sure not to leave anything out. It felt like every bone in his body was broken.

He was back in his cell again, wherever he was. He wriggled a little, stifling a gasp of pain that the slight movement had wrought. He had to find a way out. Whatever Brandt wanted, he wasn't about to stop getting it from Nick until he killed him.

What did Brandt want? What was it Brandt had thought Nick had seen? And told? Told Grissom, maybe?

Whatever it was, it was important enough to Brandt for him to risk murder.

Or maybe he already had.

The trap door opened, and Brandt's hand reached down. Nick flinched and tried to squirm away.

Brandt seized Nick's shirt and pulled him out. Rather than throwing him on the ground, Brandt set him down in a chair. Nick felt Brandt's hands holding him in place.

"Could I . . . could I please have some water?" Nick asked, his voice raspy.

"Of course."

Nick's head snapped up in surprise. It wasn't Brandt who had answered.

It was Abby Jackson.

"M-Miss Jackson?" Nick stammered as Abby moved closer, a bottle of water in one hand. "What's going on? What do you want?"

"It's quite simple, Mr. Stokes," Abby replied, coming to a stop in front of him. "You have something we need. You tell us what we need to know, and we give you back to your friends."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Nick told her, his tone revealing panicked exasperation.

"Let me jog your memory," Abby said. She made no move to give Nick the water he had requested. "The other day, when you and your coworkers came to our house, you snooped around. What did you see?"

Nick shook his head, trying to remember. "I-I don't know. Bills? I can't-."

Brandt's large hand squeezed Nick's neck painfully, cutting the CSI off.

"Yes, you do!" he insisted. "What did you see?"

"Please," Nick pleaded shakily, feeling his eyes well up. "I really don't know what you want. Please, can I . . . can I just have a little water?"

Abby straightened. To Nick's utter dismay, she upended the bottle, sending every precious drop onto the floor. Tossing the bottle carelessly aside, she looked at her fiancée.

"Refresh his memory," she stated.

"No, please," Nick begged.

His pleas went unanswered.

News of Grissom's explosion had spread through the labs, the department, and the morgue like wildfire. Never had the building appeared so full of energy and activity.

Dayshift CSIs had arrived and had taken over the caseload, allowing the graveyard shift to focus wholly on Nick's disappearance. Police officers were canvassing the area and retracing Nick's last steps, hoping for some clues as to the young CSI's whereabouts.

Having gone over every inch of the lot, the CSIs had split up to continue their search. Sara was printing the pictures she had taken. Catherine had found some fibers and a substance she felt were promising, and Warrick was going over Nick's home. A CSI from days was looking through Nick's truck. Grissom was in the break room, trying to map out Nick's steps over the last few days.

Grissom was like a man possessed. Every bit of his energy was focused on the case at hand. If anyone approached him about any information not pertinent to Nick's whereabouts, he would chase them out. No one could remember ever seeing Grissom so enraged. It didn't take long before everyone studiously avoided the break room.

Nearly everybody.

"Hey." Catherine entered the break room, folder in hand, and sat across from Grissom.

"No time for small talk, Catherine," Grissom said curtly. "We're on a tight schedule. If you've got information, then share it."

"If you say so," Catherine replied. "First, take your head out of your ass and look around. We're all worried about Nicky. Hell, half of us are doing double OT working on this. Quit chewing asses. We're doing the best we can."

Grissom stared at her in surprise, then rubbed his eyes wearily. "You're right. I apologize."

"Why are you acting like this?" Catherine wanted to know. "You've never let cases get so personal."

Grissom sighed. "By my estimate, Nick was abducted not ten yards from the lab over nine hours ago. He's been at the mercy of God knows what, and only now are we doing anything about it."

"You can't feel responsible," Catherine told him. "We're doing all we can."

"And it's not enough!" The frustration was back. "I have gone over all of Nick's most recent cases. No loose ends, no cause for threats. The only thing we're basing our kidnap theory on is the fact that Nick isn't here!"

"I wouldn't say that." Catherine opened her folder. "The fibers I found were a match to the one Nick found at the dump site. That substance I found? Chloroform, with a little amylase, lipase, and glucose."

"Saliva?" Grissom asked. "Who's?"

Catherine handed him the folder. "Nick's."

Grissom looked at the results, then back up at Catherine. "At least we can conclude that Nick was taken against his will."

"And it narrows the scope of our focus," Catherine added. "Those fibers tell us that, whoever took Nick, he's somehow linked to your case."

"It's a place to start," Grissom replied.

Nick grunted as Brandt threw him against a shelf. The CSI was bent over, but before he could move, Brandt's hand closed around the back of Nick's neck.

"If you're not going to tell us what we want, then maybe your friends will," Abby stated from somewhere behind him. "On the shelf, you will find a piece of paper and a pencil. I am going to dictate to you. If you try and write anything extra, Ty will break your fingers one at a time."

As if in response, Brandt released Nick's neck and took the younger man's left hand. He pulled Nick's pinky away from his fist.

"Maybe a demonstration is in order," Brandt suggested.

"N-No," Nick replied. "I'll do it right." He picked up the pencil and awkwardly pulled the paper closer.

"We have Stokes," Abby dictated. "If you want to see him again, deliver all of your notes on the Jackson case at a time and place later to be determined."

Nick finished the letter and put the pencil down. He didn't want his captors to think he would try to give his coworkers a clue.

Without warning, Brandt gave his pinky a sharp wrench, snapping the bone. Nick cried out in agony and leaned forward, teardrops staining the letter. When some of the pain subsided, he turned his head and looked at Brandt through bleary eyes.

"Why?" he whimpered.

A feral grin lit Brandt's face, sending a shiver down Nick's spine. "Because I can."

Abby held out a manila envelope. Nick belatedly realized that she was wearing gloves. "Put the note in here and seal it."

One-handed, Nick did as he was told. Once the envelope was sealed, Abby took it out of the storage shed, leaving Nick alone with Brandt.

Brandt hoisted Nick to his feet by the scruff of his neck and dropped him back into the tiny room, then shut the trapdoor.

Nick let out a stifled sob as he curled around his injured hand. He didn't know how long he'd been missing, but he hoped that someone was looking for him. He wasn't sure how much more abuse he could take.

Once he regained control of his fear and pain, he realized that his hands had never been retied.

A rush of adrenaline numbed his pain, and he began to work on the tape around his ankles. If he could just get away . . . 


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Grissom leaned back in his chair. Lifting his glasses, he rubbed his aching eyes. It was now nineteen hours since Nick's kidnapping, and they had barely moved forward.

Warrick and Sara were going back over the Jackson case, covering every angle. Catherine and Grissom were working on the actual kidnapping. So far, neither team had found anything useful.

Grissom stood and left his office. After being bent over his desk for hours, he needed to take a walk and clear his head; get a different perspective.

Almost of their own volition, Grissom's feet carried him back to the parking lot and towards Nick's truck.

He saw it almost immediately. A manila envelope tucked under the wipers of Nick's truck. Quickly, Grissom slipped on a spare pair of latex gloves he had in his pocket and gently removed it from the windshield. Mindful of any evidence, he opened the envelope and pulled out the note.

"Grissom!" Greg jogged up to the supervisor. "There you are! I was just going back over the fiber Nick had found, and -." The lab tech paused when he realized Grissom still wasn't looking at him. "What've you got there?"

Grissom tucked the note back inside the envelope and began to hurry back to the lab. Puzzled, Greg followed.

The night shift supervisor didn't stop until he found Catherine going over some papers. He held up the envelope.

"We've got a ransom note," he stated, not noticing Catherine's startled glare. "We'll split this. You do prints and handwriting on the letter. I'll take the envelope."

Catherine pulled on some gloves and reached for the envelope. "What does the note say?" she asked.

"The kidnapper wants everything we've got on the Brian Jackson case," Grissom replied as Catherine scanned the note. "I guess this confirms our theory about the connection to that case."

"Gil, this note says 'we'," Catherine stated. "There's more than one person involved here."

"One of them's a guy," Greg spoke up from the doorway.

Catherine and Grissom turned as one to stare at him. "How on earth do you know that?" Grissom demanded.

"I was trying to tell you outside, just now," Greg answered. "There was a strange chemical residue on that fiber that Nick found at the dump site. I swabbed it and shot it on over to Trace. The results just came back. It's cologne."

"Cologne?" Catherine echoed.

Greg nodded. "It's not your cheap dime store stuff, either. Tests came back Eau d'lorel. Very expensive, and sold in only two stores in Vegas."

Grissom nodded. "Change of plans. Catherine, you do both the letter and envelope. See what turns up." He looked at Greg. "How would you like to go window-shopping?"

Greg raised his eyebrows, confused.

Nick let out a strangled sob of relief as the tape finally came free of his legs. Sitting up, he cautiously lifted the trapdoor and looked around.

Nothing.

Opening the door all the way, Nick hoisted himself up and crept to the door. Pushing it open, he peered outside.

He was in a backyard that was fenced off. Abby Jackson's home stood before him, all the window curtains drawn. His captors were nowhere in sight.

Nick slipped out into the open, glancing around furtively. He reached a corner of the fence and looked beyond the house to the street. What he saw made his heart leap into his throat.

A very familiar black Tahoe had just pulled up to the curb, and Warrick's lanky frame was climbing out. Fearful that his captors might hear any shouting, Nick climbed over the chain-  
link fence. Because of his injuries, his usual grace was replaced with clumsiness, and he crashed onto the ground on the other side.

It was enough. Warrick altered his path to the side of the house toward the commotion. His gun was drawn, anticipating danger.

Nick, hugging his left hand tightly, staggered to his feet. ". . . Warrick . . . thank God . . ."

"Nick?" Warrick holstered his weapon and rushed to his friend's side, supporting him. "My God . . . You've been here all this time?"

Nick nodded, too overcome with relief to speak. Before either man could head back to the Tahoe, however, the cock of a hammer behind them made them freeze.

"Going so soon?"

Warrick moved so that he was shielding his friend from view. Tyler Brandt's cold eyes stared him down, the gun in his hand not wavering in the slightest. Warrick reached for his own weapon, cursing himself for putting it away, when a small grunt behind him caused him to pause.

Abby Jackson had appeared and was holding Nick flush against her. Her arm was wrapped tightly around Nick's throat, her gun pressed firmly against Nick's temple.

"Take your gun out slowly and hand it to Tyler," Abby ordered. "Don't try anything, or your friend dies."

Warrick met Nick's eyes, reading the anger, fear, and desperation there. Trying to send the younger man a mental note of reassurance, Warrick did as he was told.

"Keys, too," Abby commanded.

Warrick passed his keys to Brandt, then held his hands away from his body. "We're all cool here, right? Why don't you let Nick go?"

Abby's eyes flickered over to Brandt, and she nodded. Stepping closer, Brandt cracked the butt of his gun against Warrick's head. Warrick grunted and fell to the ground in a heap, unconscious. Abby shoved Nick to the ground by Warrick and leveled her gun at him.

Nick checked Warrick, making sure he was okay, then glared at Brandt. "Why did you do that? He didn't do anything but cooperate."

Brandt responded by striking Nick across the face with his gun. Blood spurted from a cut in Nick's lip, splattering against the side of the house.

"Let's load them into the car and move them to the marina," Brandt told Abby.

Abby raised an eyebrow. "Is that really necessary?"

"We were careful with this one," Brandt told her, gesturing to Nick. "But I'll bet his friend told someone where he was going. The sooner we clear out, the better."

Abby sighed. "It's a shame. We had a good thing going here."

"I'll take them to the boat," Brandt decided. "You get our things together. Tonight, we'll tie up these loose ends and move to the next site."

A chill went down Nick's spine at the exchange. One way or another, it would all end that night.

Greg strolled into the high-end boutique, trying not to be conspicuous while feeling very self-conscious. The other boutique had been filled with many men and women in expensive designer suits, and their stock of Eau d'lorel was very small. The last purchase had been made over a year ago.

This boutique was much smaller, and was run by a jovial-looking heavyset man in Armani. The man beamed at Greg.

"Good evening, young man," he greeted. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yeah, actually." Greg walked up to the counter. "I've been all over town looking for this cologne for my father. Eau d'lorel. I heard you might carry it."

"You heard right." The man went to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle resembling a flask. "Your father has very exquisite taste. You're the only other person I've ever had ask for this."

"Only one other guy buys the stuff?" Greg asked, handing over the credit card Grissom had given him to use. 

"Just the one," the man replied, ringing up the sale. "The scent is rather unique. Not too many men prefer it, but this guy does."

Greg flashed him a debonair smile. "He's probably as dashing and suave as me, right?"

The man snorted. "Not exactly. Bigger, more muscular. Football player type, which struck me as odd. Not too many guys like that wear a scent like Eau d'lorel."

Greg took the bag the man handed him and, with a cheerful farewell, exited the boutique. Turning around the corner, he climbed into the Tahoe beside Grissom.

Grissom set his recording equipment aside and took Greg's bag as the lab tech set about removing his wire.

"Not bad," he told the young man. "We'll make a CSI out of you yet."

Greg only grinned.

Catherine met Greg and Grissom in the corridor as soon as they returned. "Got only one set of prints from the envelope and note. They all belong to Nick."

"Handwriting?" Grissom asked.

"Nick's," Catherine replied.

"Anything else?"

Catherine hesitated. "I picked up some DNA from moisture on the note. It came from Nick, also."

"What sort of moisture?" Grissom wanted to know.

"Tears."

This pulled the supervisor up short. Unbidden, and image flashed before his eyes:

Nick, terrified and alone. At the mercy of God knew what sort of torture. Grissom's face hardened.

Catherine sensed danger and quickly tried to defuse her boss' anger. "We're getting closer, Gil. Any moment now-."

"Any moment now Nick might be killed!" Grissom raged. "The kidnappers are smart! They used Nick to cover up any trace of themselves, and we're no closer to finding him than we were when we started!"

"We'll find him," Catherine insisted. "Nobody's perfect, you've said so yourself. The kidnappers are going to make a mistake, and when they do, we'll be there to catch it."

"Plus we have the ransom note," Greg added. "At least we know Nick's still alive."

"That's right," Catherine agreed. "And as long as his kidnappers want something, he still has a chance."

Sara chose that moment to join their small group. "Hey, any you guys heard from Warrick? He was supposed to meet me here after visiting with Jackson's sister two hours ago."

Greg, Catherine, and Grissom exchanged looks. "Two hours?" Catherine echoed. "And no answer on his cell?"

Sara shook her head. "Nothing."

"Greg, how did that store clerk describe the man who bought Eau d'lorel?" Grissom asked.

"Built like a football player," Greg answered.

"That could be anybody," Sara stated.

"Including Abby Jackson's fiancée, Tyler Brandt," Grissom told her.

"What would they want with Nick?" Catherine asked. "He only met them once."

"Maybe once was all it took," Greg suggested.

"He could've seen something while he was there," Sara agreed. She looked at Grissom. "What was he doing?"

Grissom frowned. "He was looking around the living room. Something caught his attention in the roll top desk; I had to call his name a couple times to get his attention. But he never mentioned seeing anything worth drawing attention to."

"Maybe Nick saw something he wasn't supposed to and didn't realize it," Catherine supplied.

"We're still basing this off of speculation," Sara pointed out. "We don't have one shred of proof."

"No, but now Warrick's gone missing and Abby Jackson and Tyler Brandt may be the last ones to have seen him," Grissom stated. "I think that's enough for another house call."

"I'll go tell Brass," Sara volunteered.

"Meet you in the lot," Catherine said. 


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

A dull throb beating a rhythm in his skull was what drew Warrick back into consciousness. Moaning, he opened his eyes and turned his head.

He was lying in a dark room, lit only by a bare bulb overhead. His hands and feet were bound tightly with duct tape, rendering him almost completely immobile. The gentle swaying of the floor beneath him told him that he was on a boat.

The door across the room opened, and Brandt appeared. He flung something large into the room and slammed the door shut.

The object Brandt had thrown into the room had landed beside Warrick with a loud thud. Warrick swung his entire body around to get a better look.

Nick.

When Warrick had seen the younger man at Abby's house, he had appeared haggard. Bruised and obviously injured, but all right. That wasn't the case now.

Blood stained Nick's skin and clothes. He appeared unconscious, and the cause was no mystery. Nick's left eye was black and swollen, and his lip was cut badly. Blood was caked on his upper lip under his nose. Cuts, bruises, and burns lined Nick's face and arms.

As Warrick was studying the damage, Nick began to stir. His right eye fluttered open, but his left barely moved.

"Nick," Warrick said, his voice hushed. "What did they do to you?"

Nick licked chapped lips, tasting blood. "Brandt was pissed off that I tried to escape. It was when I fought back that really set him off."

Warrick felt anger bubbling in his stomach. "What's this all about? Why are they doing this?"

Something flashed in Nick's eyes. "I don't know. They kept asking me about what I saw and who I told, but I have no idea what they're talking about." Nick shifted his body and let out a pained grunt. "How long have I been gone?"

"About a day," Warrick answered. "We assumed you were taken right at start of shift."

"Brandt got me right outside my truck," Nick confirmed. "Took me by surprise."

"Well, it's only a matter of time before the team solves this," Warrick assured him.

"We don't have a lot of time," Nick told him. "Brandt moved us here for a reason. They're going to get rid of us tonight."

Warrick processed that information, then began to stretch and twist his body.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked.

Warrick drew his knees to his chest and maneuvered his arms around to the front of his body. "I ain't waiting around for Brandt to finish the job. You and I are outta here."

"Sounds good to me," Nick stated as Warrick began working on the tape around his wrists with his teeth.

Brass, Grissom, Sara, and Catherine pulled to a stop in front of Abby Jackson's house and piled out. Sara glanced around. 

"I don't see the Tahoe," she commented.

"Let's see what Miss Jackson has to say, shall we?" Brass suggested, starting up the front walk. Sara was right behind him, but Grissom paused and glanced at Catherine.

"Why don't you take a look around?" he said. "If Warrick was here, he may have left some trace of himself behind."

Catherine nodded and watched Grissom catch up to Brass and Sara, then began to examine the property.

Abby Jackson's home looked like a typical suburban house, with a well-manicured lawn and beautiful flowering shrubs. Certainly not like a scene of foul play, but then looks certainly were deceiving.

Catherine walked slowly around the side of the house, her sharp blue eyes studying everything. Something here was amiss.

She saw it. Back by the chain-link fence, some shrub branches were bent and broken. With the rest of the landscape so well maintained, the damaged shrub stood out. Catherine crouched down and leaned close.

There were some fibers, which she tweezed and dropped into an envelope. Nothing else stood out, and so Catherine began to stand. Almost by accident, her eyes fell on several dark splotches on the side of the house.

Blood.

Catherine took out a cotton swab and scraped some of the blood flecks. Once she had enough of a sample for Greg to run, she snapped the lid over the swab and stood.

Grissom, Sara, and Brass were just leaving the house as Catherine reached the front yard. She frowned. "That was quick."

"Miss Jackson claims she never saw Warrick since the night we told her about her brother," Brass told her. "Then she asked us to leave."

"Leave?" Catherine repeated. "Why?"

"According to her, so she could finish making arrangements for her brother's funeral," Sara replied. "Kinda hard to do without the body, and Doc Robbins said there's been no contact from her."

"Hardly enough for a warrant," Brass stated.

"Well, I have something that may help you there," Catherine said. She held up her swab. "One of the shrubs by their fence is damaged. I got some fibers from it. I also found blood against the side of the house."

"You get that lab rat of yours to match it to Nicky or Warrick, and I'll have that warrant before he finishes telling you the results," Brass promised.

"We need it as fast as possible," Grissom spoke up. "We're running out of time."

Brass was as good as his word. Greg finished running the comparisons in record time, and in a few hours the team was back at the Jackson house.

Grissom pounded on the front door again, impatient and angry. He was tired of the run-around, but more than that, he was scared. He would never admit it to anyone, but his team was the closest he was going to get to a family. Two members of that team were in graver danger with each passing moment, and Grissom was afraid of what would happen if he didn't find them in time.

"I don't think anyone's home," Brass commented, glancing back at the team of seven police officers that had just arrived. "What kept you?"

Detectives Vega and Lockwood hurried up to them. Vega gave Brass a pointed glance. "We had to go through the bullpen and tell all the other volunteers to wait for our call. Your turn, next time."

Nick was very popular with nearly all of the men and women on the police force. Upon hearing of his disappearance, everyone wanted to be on the case. Once Warrick, who also had quite a few friends, had been reported missing, the desire to work on the case had turned into a frenzy. Despite the rivalry between CSI and the department, they wouldn't let anyone harm one of their own.

"I don't plan on there being a next time," Brass replied. "We need a key."

The officers retrieved a battering ram from the trunk of one of the squad cars. After four tries, the door finally gave and everyone spilled into the house. As the officers and detectives cleared the house, Grissom turned to Catherine and Sara.

"We're on a hot case with the clock ticking," he said. "We don't have time for evidence collection. I want you to go over the house looking for anyplace Nick might have been kept, or where he and Warrick might be right now. We'll do the collection after they're both found."

The women nodded and, once the all-clear was given, they fanned out. Catherine headed upstairs, leaving Sara and Grissom in the living room. Sara moved to the roll-top desk and began to search for evidence. Grissom walked to the French doors and looked out into the backyard.

"Not much here," Sara reported. "Couple bills, junk mail, magazines. Whatever Nick saw, they must've gotten rid of it."

Grissom let her words wash over him. The moon was low in the sky, barely illuminating the property, but there, in the back of the yard, stood a structure.

"Wait . . . this might be something." Sara lifted a slip of paper. "A betting slip?"

Grissom opened the French doors and headed toward the structure. Startled, Sara followed him, taking the slip with her.

It was a storage shed. Grissom quickened his pace and threw open the door. The sight before him drew him short.

The objects in the shed were very neat and organized, but that wasn't what Grissom was interested in. His eyes swept over the floor and workbench, taking in the splatters of blood too numerous to count.

In the center of the floor was an opened trapdoor. Walking carefully around the blood, Grissom peered into the small niche, spying pieces of duct tape coated in blood.

"Oh my God," Sara breather, looking around.

Grissom looked at the slip in her hand. "What do you have?"

Sara held it up. "I thought it was a betting slip at first, but it's missing the serial code in the upper right corner."

"Let me see that," Grissom ordered.

Sara passed the slip over and watched as Grissom studied it. She couldn't help but glance around the room as she waited for the supervisor to speak.

"It's homemade."

Sara's eyes snapped back to Grissom. "It's illegal, but hardly worth kidnapping a CSI, let alone two."

"Let's work on one problem at a time," Grissom decided. He glanced down at the niche again. "Nick was kidnapped and brought here. Abby Jackson is too small to lift Nick out of here, so Brandt must have been the one to cause all this."

"So he tries to get Nick to . . . what?" Sara asked. "Tell him something?"

"To tell him what he saw, or what he knew," Grissom stated. "All this blood tells us Nick didn't tell."

"Maybe he didn't even know," Sara suggested.

"The tape down there looks as though Nick managed to free himself and escape," Grissom continued. "He pulls himself out and goes into the yard."

He exited the shed, Sara close on his heels. "He can't go through the house, so he decides to jump the fence." They walked to the fence.

"What if Warrick arrived here at the same time?" Sara asked suddenly. "Nick couldn't shout, Abby or Brandt would hear him."

"He jumps over the fence and lands in the shrubs on the other side," Grissom said. "That would explain the broken branches and fibers Catherine found."

"Warrick hears the commotion and finds Nick, tries to help him, but something goes wrong," Sara finishes. "Brandt or Abby, or both, catch them. Now they're in trouble. I knew where Warrick was, so they had to split."

"Now we just need to know where," Grissom said.

Catherine appeared in the yard and, after a quick glance around, approached them. "Guess what I found?" she asked.

"Hopefully something that tells us where Nick and Warrick are," Grissom replied.

"Not quite that good," Catherine answered. "Abby and Brandt have some clothes missing; they left in a hurry. I found a few bills on the floor of their closet. The ink was still wet." She held up a hand, showing ink-stained fingertips.

"Just like Brian Jackson's thumb," Sara commented thoughtfully. "Counterfeit?"

"No serial code strip or ghost on the bills," Catherine confirmed.

"So . . . Abby and Brandt were bookies, running bets," Sara said, brow furrowed in concentration. "When someone won, they would pass off the funny money and keep the real thing for themselves. But what was Brian Jackson's role in all this?"

"Maybe he found out about his sister's little operation," Catherine suggested. "They had to kill him to keep him quiet."

"Nick must have seen either the money or the betting slips in the desk, but didn't know what it was," Sara concluded. "Why not just kill him like Brian Jackson?"

"Because Nick could have told someone what he saw," Grissom realized. "Abby and Brandt had to know how much we knew. So they kidnapped Nick to find out."

"That gives us a 'why'," Catherine pointed out. "How about the 'where'?"

"I think I have that." Brass joined the group. "I had the officers interview the neighbors. One of them said that Brandt owns a boat down on Lake Mead."

"Perfect place to get rid of evidence," Sara observed grimly.

"My thoughts exactly," Brass agreed. "Does anyone feel up for a moonlight sail on the lake?" 


	8. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Warrick finally felt the tape around his wrists give when the engine beneath the floorboards rumbled to life.

"We gotta move fast," Warrick said. "Once we're free, jump overboard."

"Shouldn't we try to stop Brandt and Abby?" Nick asked.

Warrick tore the rest of the tape from his wrists and reached down to free his ankles. "You're in no shape to stop anybody, man," he pointed out. "You need to grab a life jacket and jump over. I'll handle those two."

"I'm not leaving you to do this by yourself, man," Nick argued. "Forget it."

Warrick finished freeing himself and went to Nick's side. "I'll throw you over myself if I have to."

"Yeah, you're just worried that I won't leave you any action," Nick retorted. He rubbed his raw wrists and sat up.

"Whatever," Warrick replied. "C'mon. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get your butt in front of Grissom. You left me to explain what happened at Jackson's apartment."

Nick winced. "How mad was he?"

"I'll let you find that out for yourself." Warrick tossed the rest of the tape aside and gave Nick a hand up. "Let's go."

"Right behind you."

Warrick slowly opened the door to their cell and looked cautiously outside. A set of stairs stood before him, leading up to the deck. There was a door on his right that led to the engine room, and a door on his left that Warrick supposed led to a cabin. He nodded to Nick, then crept silently up the stairs.

The moon was rising over the dark waters of Lake Mead as the shoreline sped away from them. In the distance, Warrick spied a white cutter with a large searchlight on the bow.

"Cavalry's on the way," Warrick whispered. "I'll go right, you go left. We'll meet at the helm."

"Good luck," Nick whispered back, slipping past Warrick in the direction he'd been given.

Warrick carefully stepped out onto the deck, trying not to be heard. Though surprise was on his side, he knew that that could change at any given moment.

A force suddenly shoved Warrick against the rail from behind, bending him over. A harsh voice hissed in his ear.

"You and your friend are more trouble than you're worth," Brandt said angrily. "If you're here, the other one must be out, too. Where is he?"

"I sent him overboard to wait for the police cutter," Warrick shot back, trying to gain leverage.

"You're lying," Brandt stated.

"Well, you'll find that out soon enough," Warrick said. "How far do you think you'll get? You kidnapped two officers, assaulting one. They're not just going to let you go."

"Shut up!" Brandt lessened his pressure slightly, intending to crush Warrick into the railing again. Warrick was ready, and instead forced Brandt backwards into the wall behind them. The shock of impact caused Brandt to release Warrick, who spun around and threw his fist at his assailant.

Brandt recovered and deflected the blow. His fist shot out, connecting solidly with Warrick's stomach. Warrick let out a whoosh of air and staggered back.

That was all Brandt needed. He seized Warrick around the throat with both hands and forced him back against the railing. Warrick clawed at Brandt's face, pressing his thumbs hard into Brandt's eyes. Brandt let out a low roar and gave Warrick a rough shove before releasing him.

Warrick let out a gasp as he felt himself fall back over the railing. He reached for anything to stop his topple, but came up with air.

Brandt cursed silently as he watched the CSI disappear into the water. He hadn't intended to leave any witnesses behind. With a final glance at the water, Brandt turned and decided to find and deal with his last remaining hostage.

Warrick surfaced and shook his head, dislodging water droplets from his hair. He watched the boat race away, an awful unease settling in his stomach. Nick was now on his own, unaware that Brandt knew he was loose.

The CSI looked back at the approaching police cutter. It was picking up speed, but it would still be another ten minutes before it reached him.

The worried faces of his coworkers were what Warrick saw first. The cutter slowed, and Warrick swam to the ladder and hauled himself out of the chilly lake.

Catherine threw a blanket around his shoulders as Brass barked at the operator to continue. Warrick looked at the people around him and found himself meeting Grissom's eyes.

Grissom had always been aloof, for as long as Warrick had known him. His eyes had only ever held interest, curiosity, and thoughtfulness. Now, however, Warrick saw concern, some anger, and fear.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Brandt surprised me," Warrick answered. "He's going after Nick. We have to hurry."

"Believe me, we're going as fast as we can," Brass assured him.

Warrick glanced at Brass, then back to Grissom. "I'm sorry, Gris. I didn't mean to leave Nick alone."

Grissom nodded. "I know, Warrick, I know. We'll get there in time."

The supervisor turned to watch the racing boat, his thoughts swirling in his head. He hoped that his sentiment would turn out to be true.

Nick edged cautiously into the control room, looking around for some sign of life. Finding no one, he entered the room and walked up to the helm controls, looking around. While he waited for Warrick, he could radio the cutter and find something to use as a weapon.

The young CSI began to hunt around the controls. Growing up in Texas, he hadn't been around too many boats. Everything looked pretty much the same to him.

Just as Nick's hand fell on the radio, something cold and metallic pressed firmly into the base of his neck. The CSI froze, panic stabbing at his heart.

"Move your hands where I can see them, nice and slow," Brandt ordered.

Nick swallowed thickly, but obeyed.

Something snapped around his right wrist. Nick felt his arm being tugged behind his back as his left wrist was fastened to his right. The ratching sound was odd at first, but Nick recognized it as handcuffs.

"Something I picked up from your friend earlier today," Brandt said by way of explanation.

"Where is he?" Nick demanded, cursing his shaky voice. "What did you do to him?"

The pressure of the gun was lifted, and Nick felt himself being yanked towards the door. "You'll be joinin' him soon enough," Brandt replied.

Nick was forced back onto the deck and towards the stern. Abby was waiting impatiently with a thick coil of rope and two cement blocks.

"Let's hurry up and dump him so we can get out of here," she stated.

Nick stopped and stumbled back, his stomach lurching when he realized what Brandt and Abby were going to do with him. Brandt took his arm and tried to force him forward, but Nick began to fight back.

"N-No!" he yelled. "Please! Don't do this!"

Brandt swung his gun, striking Nick on the side of the head. Nick slumped to the deck, his vision dimming, but he didn't lose consciousness.

Brandt dragged Nick over to Abby and began to wind rope around Nick's ankles. Abby wrapped the other end through one of the cement blocks and tied it tightly.

"No," Nick mumbled, feeling tears prickle his eyes. "No, please."

Abby lifted the cement block and balanced it on the railing as Brandt slid his hands under Nick's arms and hefted him.

"They're getting closer!" Abby bellowed. "Let's dump him now!"

Brandt grunted as he raised Nick higher. He began to tip Nick over the railing when pain abruptly exploded in his arm. Brandt cried out and dropped Nick- hard- onto the deck.

"Ty!" Abby cried.

"Get to the helm!" Brandt barked through clenched teeth. "I'll take care of him!"

Abby hesitated, concern on her face, but she finally turned and hurried away. Nick watched her go, then looked up at Brandt. His eyes pleaded with his captor, but he knew it was futile.

Brandt was going to kill him.

"Got him!" Brass yelled victoriously.

"We're not finished yet," Grissom reminded him.

"Can't we go any faster?" Warrick demanded, shrugging his blanket onto the deck.

"We're already exceeding the maximum speed recommended for this boat!" another officer shouted.

"Brass!" Catherine suddenly yelled, pointing at the vessel they were pursuing.

Brandt had Nick in his arms despite his gunshot wound. He shifted the struggling CSI into one beefy arm and lifted the cement block with the other. Before Brass could line up another shot, Brandt gave a mighty heave and sent Nick overboard.

"No!" Warrick cried.

As the police cutter flew by the spot where Nick had disappeared below the surface, Warrick dove into the water. Catherine followed him in mere seconds later.

"Keep on them!" Brass ordered.

The officer guiding the cutter maneuvered the boat off of Brandt's port side, edging slowly past. Every gun on the cutter was trained on the offenders' boat, just looking for a reason to fire.

"We're nearing shallow waters!" the police officer warned.

"Run them aground!" Grissom commanded.

The officer glanced at the supervisor, then nodded. "Hang on!"

The cutter managed to put on a burst of speed, swinging around and cutting into the boat's path. Whoever was at the controls was surprised, because the boat swerved to the right. It hit the shallow water and bucked sharply before coming to a stop.

The cutter wasn't even at a complete stop as the officers, Grissom, and Sara all swarmed the boat, intent on capturing Brandt and Abby. By the time the CSIs found them, they were on their knees with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

Brandt looked at Grissom and sneered. "You're too late. By now, your friend is at the bottom of the lake."

A red haze settled in front of Grissom's eyes. In a move that shocked everyone, he darted forward and grabbed Brandt by the throat. He leaned close to Brandt's face.

"If anything happens to him, and I mean anything, so help me God, I'll-," Grissom hissed.

"You'll what?" Brandt taunted.

Brass forced Grissom to release Brandt and led him away. Sara followed, too stunned to speak.

"Take it easy, Gil," Brass soothed. "We got 'em. They're not going anywhere. More squad cars are on the way."

"Radio dispatch and have an ambulance sent," Grissom ordered, stalking back to the cutter. "We need to pick up the rest of my team."

The water in Lake Mead was as cold as ice, sending chills down Warrick's spine as he pushed his way down. Warrick barely noticed; with the concrete block attached to Nick's ankles, his friend was sinking fast.

Visibility was poor in the murky water, especially with no sunlight illuminating the lake from above. Warrick swam after the receding bubbles in near panic.

After what seemed like ages, he reached the bottom of the lake. Just inches away, Nick was thrashing in desperation, trying to free himself. Pleading brown eyes met determined green, begging for help.

Catherine appeared beside Warrick, heading for the rope that kept Nick anchored to the floor of the lake. Her fingers slipped over the slick cords, not loosening in the slightest.

Warrick tried to attack the knot that was attached to the concrete block, but with the same result. He glanced up in time to see complete, overwhelming terror flicker in Nick's eyes. A stab of fear pierced Warrick's gut as Nick's head lolled and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. A final rush of bubbles exited Nick's nose and mouth, then nothing.

Catherine snatched a sharp rock from the floor and began to hack at the rope. The instant it finally gave, Warrick wrapped an arm around Nick and kicked off from the floor, racing to the surface. 

He felt more than saw Catherine swim past him. His own lungs were burning for air, but he could feel Nick's unmoving body under his arm, and that spurred him on.

Warrick broke the surface beside Catherine, gasping for breath. He looked for the cutter, seeing it race for them.

"How's Nick?" Catherine demanded.

"He's not breathing," Warrick told her. "He needs help now."

"Damn," Catherine breathed.

For five, tense minutes, they watched as the cutter drew closer. As soon as it was near enough, Warrick hauled Nick up into the waiting arms of Grissom and Brass. Catherine pulled herself back onto the boat, but Warrick accepted the hand up Sara offered.

Grissom and Brass gently laid Nick down on the deck. They didn't bother with the handcuffs just yet; their main concern was reviving the young CSI.

Nick's lips were blue, and his skin was pale. Grissom checked for a pulse, then tipped Nick's chin forward and began to pump firmly over Nick's heart, his face a mask of concentration.

Catherine scrambled over to Nick's side and breathed air into Nick's lungs. Nick's chest rose and fell with the help, but did nothing more.

Brass barked an order to get to the shore, but help was still so far away. He, Warrick, and Sara stood helpless, watching the drama unfold with bated breath.

"Come on, Nick," Grissom said grimly. "Breathe!"

Warrick was suddenly struck by a memory of Nick, this time lying on a bathroom floor as Warrick fought to save his life. Had it really been just two nights ago? It seemed as though a lifetime had passed.

Tears were streaming down Sara's face, but she didn't seem to notice. Warrick felt the familiar prickle in his own eyes as minute after minute went by with no sign of life from their friend.

"Gil," Brass said softly, shakily.

Grissom ignored him, continuing CPR now at a furious pace. "Breathe, Nick, breathe!"

Catherine breathed into Nick's mouth one more time, then sat back. Only then did Warrick see her red-rimmed blue eyes.

"He's not breathing," she said thickly. "He won't breathe."

"Then make him!" Grissom snapped. "Come on, Nick. You never ignored an order before! Don't start now! Breathe, damnit! Breathe!"

"Gil, it's over!" Brass shouted, trying unsuccessfully to restrain Grissom. "Let him go."

Warrick closed his eyes in pain. Unbidden, an image of Nick's eyes while underwater appeared in his mind. So afraid, yet trusting Warrick to help him.

"No!"

The anguished cry caused Warrick's eyes to fly open. Grissom was possessed with raw energy, and he renewed his attack on Nick's lifeless body.

"Don't you dare give up!" he bellowed. No one was certain as to whom Grissom was yelling, but their shock and grief had rendered them silent. Catherine sat beside Nick, crying openly now. Warrick wrapped an arm around Sara's thin shoulders and drew her close, both with rears staining their cheeks. Brass shook his head and turned to look at the water, his shoulders slumped.

Suddenly, Nick's body seized up, water pouring out of his mouth. Catherine let out a choked sob of surprise as she helped Grissom turn Nick onto his side. Brass, Warrick, and Sara could only stare, dumbfounded, hardly daring to believe their eyes.

Grissom's sharp voice cut through them, spurring them into action. "Sara, run and get some blankets to dry him off and ward off the chill! Jim, get these damned cuffs off of him!"

Once Nick's hands were free, he was settled more comfortably on his back. Sara returned with three blankets, which they firmly tucked around their friend. In response, Nick moaned lightly and lifted heavy eyelids.

Catherine's hands cupped his face. Brass gripped one hand while Warrick took the other. Sara hovered over Catherine's shoulder. Nick tiredly noted all their wide grins before meeting Grissom's eyes.

"Hey, boss," he whispered faintly. "You miss me?"

Grissom smiled gently and rested a hand atop Nick's head in a distinctly paternal way. "The lab's just not the same without you, Nick. Get some rest. You're going to be all right."

The corners of Nick's mouth lifted ever so slightly. His eyes slid shut as if of their own volition, and he quickly surrendered to the impending darkness. A final, comforting thought warmed his body just before he passed out.

He was safe. 


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

The hospital staff didn't typically allow so many people to be present in one room, particularly when the patient they were visiting had gone through so serious a trauma, but the primary physician knew Gil Grissom personally and had allowed the rules to be bent this time.

"Is he all right, Rob?" Grissom demanded the minute Sullivan set foot in Nick's room.

Sullivan glanced around, taking note of Grissom, his three CSIs, a young man with spiky blond hair, and three detectives before answering the question.

"Multiple contusions and lacerations, cracked ribs, hairline fracture of his right hip, concussion, left pinky is broken, just to name a few," Sullivan replied. "Not to mention on top of all that he's malnourished and dangerously dehydrated. I'm keeping in the hospital for a few days for an aggressive antibiotic treatment; at least until I'm sure his condition won't worsen. All in all, he's a very lucky young man."

"Thanks, Rob," Grissom replied. The relief in his voice was mirrored on the faces of all those present.

"My pleasure," Sullivan told him. "I've got to get on my rounds, but if you need anything, have the nurse page me."

Catherine brushed her hand over Nick's hair as Sullivan exited. "Jim, please tell me we're going to nail these bastards."

"Charges are already rolling in," Brass stated. "Murder one, attempted murder, kidnap, assault of a police officer, just to start. They aren't talking, but they don't have to. Between the evidence and Nicky's testimony, they don't stand a chance."

"Just in case, though, make sure the DA knows what's at stake here," Grissom said. "We can't afford to let them off on a technicality."

Brass nodded to Vega and Lockwood, then walked with them to the door. "We're going to make sure we have an airtight case. Tell Nicky we're glad to have him back when he wakes up, would you?"

No sooner had they left did Nick begin to stir. Everyone crowded around the hospital bed, anxious to see for themselves that Nick was all right.

Nick opened his eyes and looked around. Once the disorientation in his eyes settled, he grinned. "You're all having a party and no one decided to wake me up?"

Laughter rippled through them at the joke. "Hey, man, how do you feel?" Greg asked.

"I'm fine," Nick replied, though his scratchy voice said different. "Y'all didn't have to come down here and check on me."

"Would you rather Ecklie come see you?" Catherine teased.

Nick chuckled faintly. "Man, don't do that. My chest hurts."

"As does the rest of you, from what the doctor says," Warrick chimed in.

"What does he know?" Nick said dismissively. A cloud passed over his face. "Did, um . . . did you get them?"

"We got 'em," Sara assured him, patting his shoulder. "Brass was just here. He said that Abby and Brandt are going down for a long time. You don't have to worry about them anymore."

Nick nodded. A yawn overtook him, and he blinked wearily.

"Get some sleep," Catherine ordered. "We'll be back later to check on you."

She kissed Nick on the forehead and moved to the door. Sara and Greg made their goodbyes, then left with Catherine. Warrick lingered behind, watching Nick with an uncomfortable expression.

"I'm sorry, man," he finally said.

Nick frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For leaving you, for letting you down . . . for not getting to you in time," Warrick stated.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for," Nick told him emphatically. "You weren't the person who did all this to me. Hell, I probably wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for you. So thank you. For saving my butt."

"Again," Warrick joked.

Nick laughed and closed his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

Warrick studied his friend, then looked up at Grissom. "I really am sorry, Gris," he whispered. "For everything."

Grissom nodded. "I know, Warrick. Me too."

Warrick gave him a startled look. "You too? What for?"

Grissom sighed, his eyes focused on Nick. "Maybe if I'd been paying a little more attention, we could have prevented this. If we'd realized Nick was missing any sooner . . ."

"But we all gave up on him on the boat," Warrick pointed out. "All of us. Except you. You were the one who saved his life."

"It was a team effort," Grissom corrected. "We all saved him. We weren't just going to let him go without a fight."

Grissom looked up at Warrick suddenly. "Go home, get some rest. You've earned it."

Warrick started to go, but paused when he realized Grissom wasn't following him. "You coming?"

Grissom sat down in a chair by Nick's bed and lifted a forensics journal he had brought with him to the hospital. "You go on. I'm going to stay here for a little while."

Warrick's brow furrowed in confusion, but he left without comment.

Grissom opened the journal and began to read. Though in his mind he knew Nick was going to be all right, he wanted to stay close by and watch over his CSI until Nick was well enough to do so himself.

His family was safe once again.

---------------------------The End---------------------------- 


End file.
